


Bucky Barnes' Guide to Jealousy

by emptydistractions



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, feelings are hard, men who suck at dressing themselves, nightclubs, sex is easy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 06:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13828470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptydistractions/pseuds/emptydistractions
Summary: He’s not sure what it is about having his boyfriend get sucked off by another guy that gets Steve going so hard, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to complain about itOr: Always listen to Natasha when it comes to dressing yourself for sex.





	Bucky Barnes' Guide to Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> This started as something I laughed at and it very quickly spiraled out of control.

All the lights are off on their floor of the tower by the time Bucky drags his tired body through the front door. Steve’s asleep on the couch, head propped up on one fist, face lit only by the soft glow of the muted television and the ambient light of the moon filtering in through the curtained window. He’s sleeping hard, the way only soldiers who’ve slept on the ground with mortars flying overhead can.

Bucky sprawls on the couch next to him, ending up half-on, half-off Steve’s lap. Steve’s instantly awake, alert- because he is, before all things, a soldier- but when he sees it’s just Bucky he relaxes, letting his head drop back down to rest on the back of the couch. There’s a small sleepy smile on his face and he looks down at Bucky like he doesn’t even care that they’re going to have to replace the couch because Bucky’s getting his post-mission grunge all over it. Bucky smells like sweat and dust and there’s blood drying in his hair. Some of it’s even his.

The grime doesn’t faze Steve and he runs his fingers lightly along Bucky’s left shoulder at the joint where metal meets flesh. It always aches after a mission. 

They’re silent for a while; Steve looking down at Bucky while he stares at the television and tries to let the adrenaline bleed off of him. The fingers against his skin help to lull him into a calmer state.

“You smell like Clint.”

Steve’s voice seems loud in the silent apartment.

“Hmm?” Bucky hums, half in question and half because he’s too tired to use actual words.

“Like that obnoxious cologne he always wears. The one that smells like wet dog.”

“Barton says it’s manly and your opinion doesn’t count.” Steve and Clint have had this conversation so many times that Bucky can recite it in his sleep. He closes his eyes and shrugs, shifting until his head is fully in Steve’s lap and his booted feet are dangling off the far armrest. He only flinches a little bit when Steve moves his ministrations to his hair, which by this point must be disgusting. He doesn’t seem to mind though; Steve never minds.

“It was pretty close quarters there at the end,” he adds, when he finally summons the will to use more actual sentences and not just grunts. “Some idiot threw a grenade. Brought damn near half the building down on us. I ended up stuck with Barton in this little air pocket. We were practically plastered together until Natasha got to us.”

He can sense Steve’s uneasiness without even having to open his eyes. Bucky’s been cleared to be in the field for months, has been on dozens of missions, and besides, this one had been- was _supposed_ to be- a more covert one. In and out, strictly reconnaissance. Perfect for people with certain skill sets, aka everything opposite of what Steve normally did. Certainly not a job for someone as recognizable as Captain America. Hill had explained it and so had Natasha. Even Banner had jumped in there at the end. And while they may have deterred Steve from forcibly accompanying them, it hadn’t stopped the worried way he had fretted over the fit of Bucky’s kevlar or the sour look he gave the stealth plane as he was seeing them off.

And while some part of Bucky finds this over-protectiveness amusing, another more sensible part knows that if he doesn’t stop Steve’s current train of thought, it’s going to barrel right off the tracks and make all of their lives miserable for the foreseeable future.

“Steve, I’m fine. Barely a scratch.” He pointedly does not say anything about the gash behind his right ear that’s already scabbed over or the fact that he suspects one of his ankles might actually be fractured. “Other than the explosion thing, it was boring. All spy stuff, no fun hero stuff. I didn’t even get to use any of my knives.” That last parts disappointingly true; he loves those knives.

Steve’s silent again but Bucky isn’t so tired that he can’t still read the room. Stubbornness is rolling off Steve in waves; the air’s so thick with it, it’s astounding either one of them can breathe. Bucky wants to roll his eyes, but he also doesn’t want to start a fight, so he resists the urge.

Finally, after what seems like forever, Steve says, “Well you still smell like him.”

“Like I said, we got real close. It’s not like I made out with the guy or anything.”

“Hmm,” Steve says by way of reply. And after a moment, he adds, “Would that be such a bad thing?” His tone is carefully light but Bucky knows him better than that.

Now this is something that clearly requires his full attention; Bucky cranks both eyes open to stare up at Steve. “You think I would- With Barton?”

“Oh god, no.” Steve laughs a little, then purses his lips, considering. “But with someone. It might be fun. For both of us.”

And god, Bucky is definitely too tired for this talk right now. He’s weighing Steve’s words carefully, trying to dissect out their meaning, because for all of Steve’s moral righteousness, he can be damn confusing he wants to be. Tonight, Bucky is exhausted and it hurts to think too hard, so he settles on the safest answer. “That’s nice, but I think I’d rather just make out with you.”

Steve smiles and his eyes glint in that expect-to-be-thoroughly-ravaged way that Bucky loves. “That can be arranged.”

Some part of Bucky is still trying to extract the exact meaning out of Steve’s earlier statement, but then Steve’s mouth is on him and Bucky gives up on thinking at all.

They end up having to replace the couch the next day anyway.

 

\---

 

“What about that guy on the subway yesterday? He was eyeing you pretty hard. Was he your type?” Steve’s voice is staticky over Bucky’s earpiece.

“What?”

Bucky dodges the errant strike from one of the Hydra agents in front of him, dropping down and punching out with his metal fist to catch the man in stomach. He doubles over, clutching at himself while Bucky spins around to catch the agent trying to sneak up behind him. His kick connects with the side of the man’s head and there’s a satisfying crack. The guy drops like a ton of bricks. The first assailant is on the ground now, arms curled protectively around his middle; Bucky suspects he ruptured something with his punch. The man still has a gun though, which Bucky kicks out of reach before straightening up and dusting himself off. The tail end of whatever Steve’s been saying crackles in his ear.

“-what we talked about. I just wanted to know what you thought of him. I’m trying to figure out your type. It’ll be fun. Besides,” his voice drops a little, just enough to send a prickle of heat up Bucky’s spine. Definitely not what he should be thinking about during a mission. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Steve, I-“

“Rogers. Barnes.” Hill cuts in, voice clipped and professional. “This is _not_ a private line.”

Thank Christ for the Hydra agent that drops onto his shoulders for saving Bucky from whatever conversation had been about to come next. He’s certain his dignity would not have come out the other side intact.

 

\---

 

The next morning Bucky walks into the kitchen to find Steve in his boxers and an undershirt, frying eggs on the stove.

“There would have to be rules.” He says this to Steve’s back. It’s been a week and a half since the incident with the comms and a month since they had first talked about the whole thing and all the conversations they haven’t been having has been hanging in the air between them. Bucky’s getting a little bit sick of it. He’s had time to think now, and while he doesn’t one hundred percent understand what this is doing for Steve, it’s still _Steve_ , and Bucky’s always been willing to give him whatever he wants.

“Okay.” Steve doesn’t turn around, keeping his attention fixed on his cooking. It’s a small kindness; Bucky doesn’t always do great with direct eye contact these days, especially during difficult conversations. And this one’s on a whole other level.

“No one we know.”

Steve nods. “I agree.”

“And not in our apartment.”

Steve nods again and Bucky’s grateful. Their apartment is the one place he feels safe these days, and neither of them are crazy about doing anything that would upset that balance.

“Won’t you be jealous?”

“Buck, that’s kind of the point.” 

At this, Steve steps towards him and holds a hand out to him, trailing his fingers down towards the hem of Bucky’s boxers. Bucky feels his muscles tighten as a pleasant heat starts to pool in his belly. Steve’s eyes are coals, red-hot, and the intensity of his gaze leaves Bucky sweating. Understanding he didn’t have before slots into place firmly and suddenly, like cogs in a machine. 

This isn’t Steve doing him any kind of favor. This is him doing something for Steve.

Oh.

Steve grins, sees the looks on Bucky’s face and as always, knows him better than Bucky knows himself. “And after, I’d get to prove to you why you’re still mine.”

Bucky shivers involuntarily. His dick is screaming at him to just go for it, but his mind still can’t quite let certain details go.

“I would be jealous. If it were you.”

The looks drops from Steve’s face and he regards Bucky with more care. “Bucky, it’s _us_ ,” he says, like that explains everything. And it sort of does. “You chose me, when I was a hundred pounds soaking wet and about as useful to have around as a hole in the head. Now we’re both pushing a hundred and for some crazy reason that I don’t understand, you’re still choosing me. How could I ever be jealous? Jealousy implies that I think you’d leave me. I know better.”

Bucky’s silent; he feels his face twitch with emotions he isn’t prepared for, especially this early in the morning. God, they were supposed to have been talking about sex.

Steve continues. “Look, I just thought it might be fun to try. But if you’re uncomfortable, I don’t want you to do it. I never want you to be uncomfortable with our sex life.”

And god, he can practically hear Steve spiraling from here, because despite the absurdness of their situation, Steve is one of those people that would rather stick his own hand in boiling oil than make someone else mildly inconvenienced. Bucky really, really doesn’t feel like treading over the same, annoyingly familiar territory, so instead he reaches up and cups his metal hand around the back of Steve’s neck. Steve shivers under the cool touch and leans in. They kiss, lazy and open-mouthed until the smell of burning eggs from the stove drives them apart.

 

\---

 

Bucky growls at his own reflection in the mirror as he pulls yet another shirt off and tosses it aside. He’s already gone through his entire closet and rejected all of it; he doesn’t seem to own anything that both covers his arm and isn’t workout gear. To be fair, the thought of having to dress to attract a partner hasn’t exactly been forefront in his mind, especially now that he lives with Steve. Steve’s seen him naked; it’s not like there’s a point to trying to seduce him with clothes on.

He’s moved on to Steve’s closet now, but it’s yielding just as little progress as his own. Everything is depressingly beige-y. Finally he spots a bright green button-down towards the back. The collar is starched too much for his liking and the shoulders don’t fall in quite the right place, but he tugs it on and buttons it anyway. Bucky really hadn’t anticipated that figuring out what to wear to attact another man might be as difficult as attracting the person in the first place. The worst part is, he thinks he used to be pretty good at this; what he wouldn’t give for that particular set of memories right now.

Bucky frowns at himself in the mirror one last time. The shirt is a little wonky yeah, but he’s freshly showered and he’d a least tried to do something with his hair. He probably should have shaved, but he hasn’t quite gotten used to those plastic disposable razors that people in this century are so fond of, so he hadn’t. He misses the razors he grew up with, sturdy and dependable, but Steve had taken most of the sharp objects out of the apartment months ago when Bucky had been in the worst stages of his recovery, and hasn’t gotten around to replacing them yet. Bucky figures he should probably be annoyed but the long months are still fresh enough in his mind that he can’t summon up more than a mild irritation.

It’ll have to do. Besides he hadn’t had any kind of trouble picking up partners before the war and while pretty much everything else had changed since then, he knows objectively that his looks have not. Thank god for cryo freeze. Now if only he could remember how to smile at someone without terrifying the recipient of it out of the room.

Bucky switches off the lights in the apartment as he leaves. Steve’s off doing some meet and greet thing with someone important that Bucky hasn’t bothered to remember the name of. Steve’s absence was half the reason that Bucky chose tonight to try out this insane plan. If he fails as hard as he thinks he’s going to he can be back and settled on the couch before Steve even gets home and no one has to be the wiser. The elevator is at their floor in seconds, JARVIS’ smooth voice directing him to pick a destination. Bucky’s still getting used to the whole talking building thing, but even he can recognize it seems to have more perks than downsides. He guides the elevator toward the street level; he’ll take a cab from there.

Of course, nothing in Bucky’s life ever goes the way he wants it to, so why should what’s already shaping up to be a supremely embarrassing night go any differently? The elevator comes to a stop a few floors down to let in two more passengers; Natasha and Barton. And while Bucky normally wouldn’t mind- he likes Barton enough and Natasha may actually be his favorite person in this century outside of Steve- he’s really not looking forward to dealing with Natasha’s preternatural ability to see through everything he does. This entire night is already ridiculous enough.

“Hey man.” Barton greets him as the two of them step into the elevator and the doors slide shut. Bucky doesn’t miss the quick appraising glance Barton gives him, taking in the outfit that is definitely not the sweatpants/workout gear combo that Bucky has been sporting for pretty much the entire time he’s been in the tower. Barton’s a good agent; nothing escapes his notice, but he must either find it of no consequence or he just doesn’t give a shit that Bucky’s suddenly decided to dress like a real person. Bucky suspects it’s the latter.

Natasha however, says something immediately, just like Bucky knew she would. “Barnes.” Her gaze is intent on him, and he’s suddenly more aware than before of the bad fit of the shirt and tightness of the blue jeans he’s hardly ever worn. “Where are you going?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, they say and if he’s going to go this whole night feeling as uncomfortable as he is, at least he can take comfort in taking a few others down with him. “To find someone to have sex with to make Steve jealous. It’s a thing.”

Barton chokes on nothing and desperately looks anywhere but at him. “Oh, um- that’s great man. Good for you.”

Natasha, of course, doesn’t show a hint of surprise. He hadn’t thought she would. Her gaze is critical as she looks over his outfit again. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

“It’s fine,” he says, frowning slightly because it’s one thing that he acknowledges he looks ridiculous, but it’s a whole other thing for _someone else_ to say it. “It’s Steve’s.”

“It’s a tragedy,” she says simply. Bucky really wishes he could disagree with her, if only for the sake of his pride, but he really, _really_ can’t. “Clint,” she continues, “are you okay with an IOU for dinner?” She doesn’t wait for an answer before telling JARVIS to take them back up to her floor, the elevator changing directions with just the slightest of bumps.

Barton rolls his eyes and shrugs, but the look he gives Natasha is so fond that’s he clearly not bothered. “Would it matter if I said no?”

“Not really.”

“Then it’s fine. Go help our little lost lamb get laid. But you’re paying for dinner next time.”

She smiles warmly at him and it’s intimate feeling enough that Bucky feels slightly voyeuristic watching. He’s relieved when the elevator stops and she grabs him by the shoulders and steers him into her apartment, giving Barton a little goodbye wave behind Bucky’s back.

“Stay here,” she orders him, abandoning him in her spacious living room before bounding off down the hall. Bucky’s never been to her floor before- he hasn’t really been on any of them except the communal floor, the gym, the roof, and the one he shares with Steve- and he takes a minute to gaze around, cataloging what little details of her life he can glean off her possessions.

The apartment is just like her, sleek and modern, all long lines and surprising curves. There’s a low leather couch that looks comfortably worn but not old, and pops of color from the modern art hung on the wall. And just like Natasha, the apartment gives him very few hints at the person that might be beneath all of it. She’s back before he has time to really pick all that apart in his brain.

“Here,” she says, pushing a bundle of clothes into his arms. “Try these. You’d be lucky to get a blind person to sleep with you in that outfit.”

He suppresses the urge to scowl at her and starts stripping off his shirt. A normal person would probably ask for a room to change in, but he’s several years past any sort of modesty involving his own nudity and she’s unflappably unbothered by pretty much everything, so right here in the middle of the living room it is.

The shirt she’s given him is dark blue and v-necked, thin enough to show the planes of his chest without drawing attention to the line of his shoulder where metal meets flesh. The jeans take him a moment to figure out; they hug tight to his calves and ankles and he feels uncomfortably exposed. Natasha eyes him and, if her appreciative smile is anything to go by, he thinks he must look pretty alright.

“Very nice,” she says. “The blue really brings out your eyes.”

“If I do this right, no one should be looking at my eyes,” he mutters. 

He doesn’t bother wondering why she has clothes that happen to fit him perfectly just laying around her apartment. If he didn’t know any better, he’d almost suspect she’s been itching for the chance to dress him in something other than sweatpants for the last year. But as it is, he’s been around her long enough now to know that if the mission had called for a grand piano, she would have been able to produce one with alarming speed and acuity and then look at all the rest of them like _they’re_ the ones that are woefully unprepared.

Bucky would like to say he’s a big enough person not to roll his eyes at her turned back as she slips off to change into something more suitable for a night out, but he’s really not.

 

\---

 

The anxiety that started pretty much the moment they left the tower has worked itself into a fever pitch by the time they’re actually in the club. _A nightclub_. Of all the goddamn places. Nightclubs, he thinks, represent pretty much everything about modern culture that still baffles him; they’re way too much to take in. But he can do this. For Steve. And for all the really hot sex he’s going to get from Steve because of it.

But mostly for Steve.

The music is all bass and screeching sounds and approximately zero percent any actual talent on any musical instruments he’s ever heard of, as far as he’s concerned. His distaste must show on his face.

“What?” Natasha asks him. The inside of the club is dark but random flashes from the rotating lights overhead let him see her raise one perfectly groomed eyebrow in his direction.

“Music has really gone downhill,” he remarks drily, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard over the general din of the crowd.

She laughs, genuine and bright. “You two are so perfect for each other. Come on, grandpa.”

She tugs him towards the dance floor and the press of the crowd immediately sets him on edge. He feels the muscles in his back tighten as he cases out the exits; the front door they’d just come in, a service entrance at the back, the swinging doors behind the bar.

“Hey.” Natasha pulls his attention back by laying one of her hands against his cheek gently. They’re further into the crowd now, and the bodies around him are pulling his attention in a million different ways, but her touch is strangely grounding. He feels himself calm a little. “Dance with me,” she says and it’s a command more than anything. “You’re too tense. Try to loosen up a little. Let’s give people something to watch.”

He follows her lead and looses himself a little to the pulsating beat and her lithe body against his. He had always been a good dancer before and the innate ability hasn’t seemed to have abandoned him yet. Natasha red dress is tight in all the right places and rides up her thighs in just the right ways and she moves like she owns the place, cool and confident. Bucky has at least a peripheral awareness of his own attractiveness, enough to know they must be a sight to watch. He can sense more a few pairs of appreciative eyes on them.

They’re both sweating by the time she pulls him towards the bar and Bucky’s feeling considerably less uptight. He silently thanks her foresight as he orders a double rum and coke from a bored looking bartender. It’s smart, to loosen himself up with dancing and some drinks before he attempts to work his way into a stranger’s pants; just thinking about it makes him sweat even harder than the dancing had. He downs his drink quickly and orders two more as Natasha’s eyes scan the room for a likely victim.

“Thought the serum kept you boys from getting drunk,” she says, as the bartender slides two more drinks his way. He’s slower with these than with the first.

“Steve’s does. I got the knockoff. It has some perks.”

She huffs a small laugh and stops scanning the room long enough to look at him appraisingly. The feeling of being watched so long makes him shift on his barstool and scowl.

“You have major resting bitch face,” she says finally.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“You look scary and unapproachable.”

He almost smiles at that. Almost. “Good. That’s the way I like it.”

“Yeah, well it’s not the best look for trying to get someone to sleep with you.” Her voice is tinged with exasperation but her eyes are fond. “What about that one?” She gestures gracefully with one hand. Bucky follows her line of sight and shakes his head as soon as he sets eyes on the guy.

“No way. Too much.” He’s wearing a mesh shirt for Christsakes. Bucky can see his nipple piercings from here. “ _Way_ too much.”

Natasha hums in acquiescence and takes a sip of her drink. It’s bright pink and obnoxious, yet somehow suits her perfectly. “Okay. That one.”

He follows her gaze again and cocks his head to the side. “That could work.” And he figures if he doesn’t do this now, with the slight ache in his muscles from dancing and the thrum of alcohol in his veins, then he’s never going to do it all. He gulps down the last of his drink and stands. Natasha catches him by the elbow.

“Barnes.”

He turns toward her with a raised eyebrow of his own. “Let me guess. Just go be myself?”

“Oh god no.” She laughs and he’d be offended if she wasn’t so right. “Don’t be yourself. You’ve lived in the tower for almost a year and the only people that like you are Steve, who doesn’t count, Clint, who is the worst judge of character I’ve ever met, and me.”

“What about you?”

She winks cheerfully. “I am an _excellent_ judge of character. Go get ‘em.” She loosens her grip on his elbow and pushes him gently away.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to be himself at all. Bucky approaches him and smiles and the guy smiles, dark and predatory. He’s got dark blonde hair that sweeps over his forehead and the shirt he’s wearing is definitely too tight for public decency. He doesn’t even ask for Bucky’s name before he’s shoving his tongue into Bucky’s mouth and slipping his hands underneath his shirt right there on the dance floor.

 

\---

 

“Well that was a bust,” Bucky says grimly as he throws himself back onto the seat next to Natasha. There’s a guy leaning against the bar and into her personal space and she’s smiling, easy and flirtatious. He turns to glare at Bucky for interrupting and Bucky glares back, feeling supremely annoyed. There’s a grim sort of satisfaction in the way the guy visibly flinches away from Bucky’s gaze, before mumbling something about the bathroom and slipping off without another word.

Natasha watches the guy go, head cocked to the side, but when she looks back at Bucky she doesn’t seem too torn up about it, so he figures he’s probably forgiven. “You seemed to be getting along fine last time I looked. What happened?”

Bucky huffs out an irritated little sigh. “He asked about my arm. He kept _touching_ it.” She twists her mouth in confusion at him and he continues. “It was _annoying_.” In truth, having a stranger probe at the thick scars on his shoulder and ask him questions had made him feel raw and vulnerable. But he didn’t see the need to admit that to her. “I wanted sex, not to tell the guy my life story.”

To her credit, Natasha looks like she empathizes. She’s quick to get back to the mission; after all, they haven’t accomplished what they came here to do. “What about that guy over there? At the end of the bar. He doesn’t look like a talker.”

He’s not a talker at all, as it turns out.

The two of them practically fall into one of the open stalls in the bathroom, his tongue in Bucky’s mouth and Bucky’s hands sliding under the hem of his jeans. They’re moving so fast that Bucky accidently slams the back of his head against the wall hard enough to send black dots racing across his vision. That’s fine with him; quick and dirty, with as little time for him to talk himself out of this as possible. His erection flags a little as he panics, but then he thinks about Steve, his low, rumbling voice in Bucky’s ears and his eyes, and it’s back in full force.

He spares a moment to think about safe sex because it seems like the responsible thing to do- the kind of thing Steve would want him to do- but then the guy whose name Bucky has already forgotten is dropping to his knees in the cramped space and pulling Bucky’s cock free and taking him so far down his throat that the words _gag reflex_ must not even be in his vocabulary.

It’s over almost embarrassingly quick, but Bucky doesn’t seem to have the ability to feel shame when he’s thinking about Steve’s lips, red and swollen, wrapped around his dick. The Steve in his imagination is so real that he’s almost surprised when he opens his eyes and finds a stranger grinning up at him. The guy stands, crowding Bucky in the small enclosure of the stall, his dick hard and expectant against Bucky’s thigh. He’s almost annoyed that he has to return the favor, but he’s also not an asshole and the idea of using someone for something that’s not at least mutual doesn’t sit well with him, so Bucky finishes him off with his hand and pulls him in for one more kiss that’s all teeth and tongue before leaving the bathroom. Nobody gives him a second glance as he walks towards the door, tugging at the zipper on his jeans. Natasha really had picked the right place to come to.

Natasha’s back on the dance floor when he reenters the room. She’s wrapped around a tall, built brunette and he’s got his hand on her thigh and she’s grinning that cheshire cat grin that means things are going exactly the way she wants. He catches her eye as he heads towards the door and she waves him off with one graceful hand, smiling and mouthing something that ends up lost in the noise and dark of the club.

 

\---

 

Steve’s reading when he gets home, dressed in soft sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, feet tucked up under him in their old, comfortable armchair. He doesn’t look up when Bucky pushes the door shut softly and engages the latch, turning a page as he says, “Hey Buck. I wasn’t sure when you were going to be home so I- _oh_.”

Bucky knows the exact second that Steve looks up at him, can hear it in the hitch of his breath. “Oh,” Steve repeats himself. He lets the book fall from fingers and land haphazardly on his lap as he gazes at Bucky, licking his lips in what is probably a completely unintentional manner. It sends a bolt of pure _want_ straight to Bucky’s groin all the same.

And then Steve is up and on him, crowding Bucky back up against the door as the book drops to the floor forgotten. Bucky stares at Steve and knows how he must look; hair mussed and lips red and swollen and slick. He can smell the sharp scent of sex on himself and knows that Steve can too.

Steve puts his large palms on either side of his side, bracketing Bucky on both sides, and looks at him like he’s trying to decide whether or not to drag him to the bedroom or fuck him right there against the door. Bucky thinks both of those options sound spectacular. He’s not sure what it is about having his boyfriend get sucked off by another guy that gets Steve going so hard, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to complain about it. Especially now that Steve’s ducking his head down and sucking a mark into Bucky’s neck with so much fervor that it’ll probably take a week to fade. Bucky really, really hopes it lasts even longer.

Steve moves on from Bucky’s neck, nosing along his jaw and dropping even further down to leave another mark on his exposed collarbone. His shirt rips a little under Steve’s careless grip. Bucky writhes against the door but Steve’s body keeps him trapped as Steve licks a stripe up his jaw. “Did you have a good time tonight, Buck?” Steve’s breath is hot on his ear and his tone makes Bucky shiver. There’s a fire in Steve’s hands as he smooths them up Bucky’s sides that threatens to burn him to ashes.

“Thought of you the entire time,” Bucky manages. He gets a hand up between them and grips Steve’s chin, pulling him forcefully towards Bucky. They kiss, hot and open-mouthed. Finesse has gone out the window in favor of scraping teeth and tongues.

“Tell me,” Steve murmurs against his mouth.

Whatever Bucky’s going to say gets lost in the next kiss. Even with Steve’s tongue in his mouth, he thinks he can still taste the other men on the back of his teeth, in his throat. He doesn’t like that; he should never taste of anything but Steve.

Bucky lets his legs go out from under him, dropping to his knees in front of Steve. He’s still backed against the door, Steve’s strong legs on either side of him, closing him in. He turns his head and softly bites the inside of one thick thigh. The ensuing gasp makes him smile against Steve’s skin.

He can see the outline of Steve’s dick clearly through his sweatpants, see the way the fabric is straining and the damp patch at the tip. Bucky’s own cock is aching in his jeans, but he’s come once tonight already and this is about Steve.

Steve hisses a bit as Bucky yanks his sweatpants down over his thighs. He’s not wearing anything underneath and his cock springs free, thick and flushed and already leaking with arousal. He mouths at the tip, watching in delight as Steve strains not to push his hips forward and the way the muscles in his thighs tense under his skin. He hears Steve curse brokenly under his breath as Bucky sucks his cock fully into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. He loves it; loves being the only one who gets to see Steve come apart like this.

Bucky loses himself for a moment in the taste and feel of Steve’s cock, heavy on his tongue. Steve’s not leaning on the door so much now as using it to prop himself up. Bucky holds his hip steady with his right hand and rubs his metal hand in broad strokes up the inside of Steve’s thigh. If Steve protests against the cold metal on his skin, it’s lost among the breathy curses and gasps falling from his lips.

Steve’s close. Bucky can feel it in the tensing of his thighs, the constriction of his belly under Bucky’s flesh and blood hand. Steve’s saying something above him. It comes out a little strangled but the intent is clear when Steve grabs a handful of Bucky’s hair, attempting to still him. “No,” he repeats, sounding wrecked, “Not like this, Bucky. I want to- I want-“

Bucky groans at the sensation of Steve’s hand locked in his hair, fingers gripping the strands and creating bright little pinpricks of pain across his scalp. His metal hand tightens on Steve’s thigh and he looks up at Steve through his eyelashes and suddenly Steve’s coming, hot and wet down his throat. 

Bucky keeps his mouth on him, easing him through the aftershocks, before letting Steve’s softening cock fall from between his lips. He’s still achingly hard himself and Steve looks absolutely wrecked, sagging against the door and breathing hard, his eye shut. Bucky wishes he could have a picture of this moment. Steve like this, sated and glowing, is art. Deserves to be hung in a museum next to the goddamn Mona Lisa.

When he finally catches his breath, Steve opens his eyes and looks down at Bucky, who’s grinning widely. “I wanted to fuck you,” he says, and if Bucky weren’t so busy finding him incredibly sexy he’d have to find his tone sulky. “Don’t laugh,” he says; Bucky does it anyway. Only Steve, freshly fucked, could sound so much like a petulant child. “Wanted to prove you’re mine.”

Bucky lays his head against one of Steve’s thighs, presses a kiss into the soft skin there. “No need to prove it, Steve.”

“Yeah, well I still wanted to.”

“I know.” Bucky smiles up at him and holds out a hand for Steve to help him up. “Besides, we’ve still got the entire night. And I don’t have any plans tomorrow.”

Steve rolls his eyes but that doesn’t stop him from pulling Bucky into a quick kiss before tugging him by the wrist into the bedroom.

 

\---

 

The next afternoon, Bucky returns the clothes to Natasha, freshly laundered and folded neatly. She raises an eyebrow at the rip in the collar of the shirt. Bucky winks at her.

He’s not even sorry.


End file.
